


Morning After

by TerezFox8989



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 11:02:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20208691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerezFox8989/pseuds/TerezFox8989
Summary: When Aziraphale wakes alone in the bed after his first time with Crowley, anxiety gets the better of him.





	Morning After

Morning After

Truthfully he hadn’t meant to fall asleep, didn’t even remember closing his eyes. But he supposes ultimately it was inevitable, curled up warm and soft pressed up against Crowley, mess of red hair to cloud his vision. 

He certainly hadn’t expected to wake up alone, hand outstretched along the sheets feeling cold and exposed, left naked in his bed. He grips fruitlessly at the empty space beside him, searching for the demon that’s long gone.

“Crowley?” He calls softly as he sits up, glancing around the room while his voice echos about the empty space, disappearing into nothing, unanswered. 

The weight in his chest is so sudden, choking the air from his lungs, anxiety sinking in and taking root, spreading faster every second. Aziraphale squeezes his eyes shut, hands fisted in the sheets, knuckles white trying to will the frustration away; eyes instantly wet as the silence consumes him. Crowley’s gone and that says something Aziraphale can’t help but think. Taking a shuttering breath and moving quickly on shaky legs he begins to collect his clothes, throwing them on with little care, biting back a choked sob at the thought of phantom fingers hastily removing said clothes only hours before, yellow eyes shining brightly and hungry lips against his skin.

That was a week ago when he’d hurried out of Crowley’s with still no word from him. 

“It isnt my fault,’’ Aziraphale says slamming the phone in frustration, cringing slightly at the use of force. Worry melting away to glare at the device accusingly, it’s the 127th time he’s picked up the phone and at some point hung up before finishing the number. “I mean he should be the one to apologize’’ he says now pacing around his shop talking to the inanimate objects. ‘You tempted me’ he thinks worrying his hands, ‘made me feel things I didn’t think possible. And then ripped it all away. A blinding light, then left me to fall.’

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale sighs as he stands before the door, vaguely remembering the trip to Crowley’s, he had been ready to give the demon a piece of his mind, now standing before his door he’s not so sure. Taking a deep breath he raps his knuckles against the wood, swallowing thickly before readjusting his jacket nervously. “Crowley, I know you’re in there, we need to talk,’’ he calls after a few minutes knocking again impatiently.

Every sense of fight he’s managed to scrape back up leaves him when Crowley opens the door. He stands before him looking barely held together, leaned heavily against the door and about to drop, hair disheveled, frown deep in his face, cloths askew like he’s been trying to sleep in them, eyebrow raised in question. “Oh, you look like hell,’’ he can’t help but gasp out.

Crowley sighs heavily through his nose blinking slowly behind dark glasses, shifting slightly and closing the door without a word.

Aziraphale mouth clamps shut in shock, he hadn’t meant to say that at all and he certainly hadn’t expected Crowley to slam the door in his face, “The least you could do is apologize-’’

“Apologize!,’’ Crowley snaps, almost ripping the door off its hinges when he storms the hall. Aziraphale’s forced to retreat back, stares wide eye, and panicked, he can count on one hand the number of times he’s been genuinely afraid of the demon and he knows the fear shows. “Where the bloody hell do you get off?!” Crowley continues, face twisted in a snarl that seems to deflate almost instantly, exhaustion seeping back into his bones. “Just leave Aziraphale,’’ he says tiredly, turning back and shutting the door behind him.

Aziraphael stands shocked for a moment trying to process the events, in hindsight had their night together truly been that disappointing in his eyes. “I’ve mucked it all up haven’t I?” Aziraphael asks softly, moving forward without any conscious thought, resting his forehead to the door. “We can go back,’’ he tries desperately, voice shaking. “I can-I can try—I— I can possibly—I can-“ forget your lips upon my skin, your fingers as they burned a path down my body, though the tissue and blood to my very being. I can forget what it means to love you this way. “I’m sorry I wasn’t enough,’’ trembling as the words leave his lips.

The door is wrenched open so quickly Aziraphale has no time to prepare for it, crashing straight into Crowley’s chest. ‘’What the bloody heaven are you talking about?’’ Crowley responds seeming almost prepared as he grips Aziraphales shoulders pushing him back slightly face twisted in a scowl. 

“You-you were gone,’’ Aziraphale says brokenly eyes wet as his lips tremble. For a moment Crowley stands frozen then seems to break, the tension gone with a sob of relief before a chuckle builds in his throat. “I fail to find what’s so funny!’’ Aziraphale snaps face twisted in anger and hurt, when the chuckle moves to a full blown laugh, almost hysterical.

Crowley shakes his head dismissively, face still split in a grin shifting his hands the lapels of Aziraphales’ jacket, pulling him sharply forward cutting off his next retort by smashing their lips together.

“Why can’t we get anything right,’’ Crowley wishers pulling back, lips still brushing.

“I-I don’t understand’’ Aziraphale says rocking back on his feet eyes still closed before leaning forward again.

Crowley smiles softly closing the gap for a chaste kiss then taking his hand leading him into the apartment. Aziraphale follows behind at a loss, still slightly breathless, trying arrange his thoughts into some form of substance. Finally coherent enough to speak as they move through the room the questions quickly die on his lips when Crowley swipes a pink box off the table. “I’d thought you might be peckish,’’ he says offering the box.

Eyes wide and breathless Aziraphale takes the box almost at a loss for words, running his hands delicately along the decal of one of his favorite bakery’s. “Why didn’t you say anything?’’

“I saw you leaving Angel,’’ Crowley responds simply, shrugging a shoulder and trying to appear nonchalant. “Thought it was too much, too fast.”

“Oh, oh heavens no,” Aziraphale moves to correct him, worry creasing his brow. 

Crowley smiles softly in return, reaching up to pull the sun glasses from his face, yellow eyes blown wide, but the relief that washes across his face drips down his body and he now looks ready to drop again. He closes the space between them, steps slightly sluggish, reaching out to cup his cheek and lips to his forehead, leaning heavily on him. ‘’Come to bed with me.”

Aziraphale hums happily, eyes falling close, ’’That’s quite the temptation.’’ 

Crowley smirks slightly in return, eyes slowly shrinking as he moves to take the box, tossing it back on the table. Then moves to thread their fingers together leading off in the direction of his room. 

“Perhaps we could get breakfast in the morning,’’ Aziraphale asks hopefully, glancing back at the box forlornly. ’’Together of course,’’ he clarifies turning back. 

Crowley smiles with what little energy he has, eyes half closed and tongue heavy, “ ’course, what ever you want Angel.’’

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t decide if they feel out of character, or overdramatic but the idea would not leave me. May do a part 2 from Crowley’s point of view if there is interest.


End file.
